


we're like long lost brothers who found each other (and love each other like family)

by drakefeathers



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Damian Wayne is Robin, Dick Grayson is Batman, Family Fluff, Gen, Kidnapping, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2019-11-02 01:50:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17878826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drakefeathers/pseuds/drakefeathers
Summary: ongoing collection of scenes set when Dick is Batman and Damian is his Robin, ranging from cute to sad (hopefully not too sad). not chronological.





	1. ice cream

**Author's Note:**

> title from holy musical b@man :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one is a prompt from amariemelody on tumblr: "A prompt for Dick & Damian during their Batman/Robin stint to sit in your inbox: how about they take a break on a nice, slow patrol night to have an ice cream night on the rooftop? Dami even indulges in taking a bite of his big brother's ice cream, teehee!"

It’s the first true summer night of the year. Clear sky, warm air, faint breeze, the kind of night that would be perfect for camping under the stars. But, swinging between buildings in downtown Gotham isn’t a terrible way to spend it, either.

They alight on an office building near city hall. “It’s quiet,” Damian remarks as they look out upon the dark streets.

“Almost _too_  quiet,” Dick agrees with exaggerated suspicion, chin in his hand. Damian frowns at him, unamused, and Dick chuckles.

“You’ve been quiet tonight, too,” says Damian. “For you, anyway.”

“Just feeling a bit nostalgic.”

He can’t help it, on a night like this. It brings back memories of the good times, sitting on rooftops just like this one with Bruce during slow patrols, watching the city glittering around them. Everything was so much simpler back then. Now Bruce is gone, and—

Remembering Bruce is gone still takes the breath out of him, sometimes. Like a blow to the chest. He inhales slowly, his throat tight.

Now Bruce is gone and he’s not a child anymore, he has a Robin of his own. That thought feels like being punched in the chest, as well. He spends a moment disoriented, trying to remember where the years went.

They hear about a convenience store robbery over their comms, but apparently Batgirl already has it covered. Dick smiles at the quips she makes as she arrives on the scene, before he turns his comm off and leaves her to it.

His Robin sighs in boredom beside him. That won’t do.

Dick pokes Damian in the shoulder. “C’mon, I’ve got an idea.”

 

* * *

 

The girl behind the ice cream counter doesn’t comment on their attire, merely raises a wary eyebrow and then goes about scooping their ice cream without enthusiasm. Gotham fast food workers are the most jaded in the world.

“The waffle cone,” Damian tells her, pointing.

“You should probably get it in a cup, Robin,” suggests Dick. “Trust me, it’s impossible to keep ice cream on a cone while swinging.”

He worded that poorly. He realized that even while saying it. It’s too much like a challenge—Damian only digs in his heels.

“The cone,” Damian tells the server again, with more conviction.

 

* * *

 

They make it about three blocks before Damian has an empty waffle cone in his hand and pale green ice cream smeared across the front of his uniform.

“It doesn’t matter,” he insists on the next rooftop. His face is flushed with anger or embarrassment, or both. “I didn’t want it, anyway.”

Dick points his grapple back in the direction of the ice cream shop. “We’ll go back and get you another one.”

“I don’t _want_ —“ Damian tries to protest, but Dick is already swinging away.

“We’re going back!” he yells over his shoulder at Damian.

 

* * *

 

“How’s the pistachio, Robin?”

They’re eating their ice cream perched on a roof with some of Dick’s favourite gargoyles, facing Robinson Park. In the end, Damian listened to Dick and got a cup, with a waffle cone stuck on top. Though it melts fast enough that he has to eat it with a spoon, anyway.

“I don’t believe there’s a single real pistachio in this,” Damian complains, then shrugs and keeps eating. “It’s adequate.”

Dick holds out his cup. “Want to try some of mine?”

“What is it?”

“Rocky road.”

“But what _i_ _s it_?”

“Chocolate, with nuts and marshmallows. The marshmallows are real, I’m pretty sure,” he says seriously. He can feel Damian rolling his eyes behind his mask.

“It’s not bad,” Damian admits, upon trying a spoonful. “I might get that, next time.”

Next time. Dick smiles around his spoon at the idea.

The park in front of them is lush and dark, like the woods out by the manor, and it reminds him… he really should take Damian camping out in those woods sometime, on a night like this. The kid’s probably never gone camping except as a survival exercise. They can make a campfire and roast some—

Sirens begin wailing in the distance at the same time their comms buzz with an incoming call from Oracle. Dick looks at his unfinished ice cream forlornly.

“Let’s move, Batman,” Damian orders, already preparing his grappling gun, a rare smile on his face. “Crime doesn’t stop for ice cream.”


	2. kidnapping

Damian isn’t afraid.

How could he be, being held hostage by such sloppy amateurs? He has a razor blade sewn into the cuff of his sleeve that will make short work of the ropes tying him to this chair. Once he is free, it will be simple—swing the chair at the nearest thug to incapacitate him, grab his gun, and shoot—

No, nevermind that. No shooting. He doesn’t do that anymore.

He’ll grab the gun, point it at the second kidnapper threateningly before he can draw his own gun, and make his escape while they’re all cowering. The third kidnapper doesn’t even _have_  a gun. Pathetic.

It would be so easy. Unfortunately, right now he is Damian Wayne, son of Bruce Wayne. Not Robin, not an al Ghul. A helpless, untrained child. Secret identities are a nuisance.

He recalls the behaviour of the children he’s rescued as Robin. Their whimpering and blubbering. He refuses to make himself cry, and he’s gagged anyway, so he goes for silent and wide-eyed in fear. The kidnappers seem to believe it well enough.

“No need to be scared, kiddo,” one of the idiots tells him, pinching his cheek in a painful mockery of fondness. “At least, not yet. As long as your family comes through with the ransom, we’ll keep our end of the deal. We’re in the business of making money, not killing.”

Damian resists the urge to roll his eyes. If only these imbeciles knew exactly who they’re dealing with.

Grayson is long overdue. The waiting is beyond tedious, and Damian wishes he could untie himself just long enough to scratch off the dried blood on his face that is becoming unbearably itchy. The kidnappers didn’t hurt him on purpose, he thinks, but they weren’t exactly gentle when they threw him into the trunk of their car, and his head hit the edge of a metal toolbox.

The cut bled profusely, as scalp wounds do, but it’s since stopped. He must have looked quite gruesome in the pictures the kidnappers took. Hopefully Grayson and Pennyworth aren’t worrying needlessly, but knowing them…

The window behind Damian explodes inwards—again, _amateurs_ , using a room with a window—as Batman crashes through it, taking down two perps before his feet even hit the floor. The only kidnapper left standing lifts his gun and fires several panicked shots at the vigilante. His aim is terrible, and Damian has to throw himself to the side to avoid being hit, bullets whizzing past the side of his head.

Dick disarms the thug with a batarang at the same time he catches Damian’s tilting chair to prevent him tipping over onto the glass-strewn floor. He glances at Damian’s bloody face briefly, frowning in concern.

Damian would tell him he’s _fine_ , if he could speak, but it would probably do little to reassure him. Dick’s hand tenses on his shoulder before he lunges forward to finish the job, and Damian can feel in that small touch that Dick is _livid_.

The kidnapper that crawls towards his gun gets his hand crushed under Batman’s boot. The one that tries to flee gets wrapped up in a rope batarang and dragged back screaming. Damian has never seen his Batman like this before. He’s not just taking these men down, he’s _punishing_  them. He hits them harder than he needs to, more than necessary, until their faces are bloodier than Damian’s.

Damian smiles. He thinks he likes this side of Grayson.

Sirens are approaching the building by the time Dick is satisfied. He ties up the kidnappers, who have several missing teeth and broken bones between them, and frees Damian from his bindings.

His touch is gentle now, the anger gone, and he smiles—more like the Batman that Damian is used to. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Batman drops him off with the paramedics outside. A few minutes later, as Damian is getting his head stitched up, Dick and Alfred are escorted through the police tape. Dick’s hair is still mussed from wearing the cowl.

He hugs Damian tightly, and after a slight hesitation, Damian hugs him back. After all, people are watching, and he’s supposed to be a scared child. Secret identities and all that.

It’s a relief when Alfred convinces the officers and paramedics to let him take Damian home—the old man’s been through this enough times, he knows what to say to them.

Dick sits in the back of the car with Damian. He breathes a deep sigh once they’re safely around the corner, the mayhem of the crime scene out of view. “I’m really proud of you for not breaking character, Damian. Trust me, I’ve been there—I know exactly how frustrating it can be.”

Damian lets out a ' _tt'_ , leaning against the window moodily. “Frustrating doesn’t begin to cover it. I could have taken down those fools in seconds, if I were able to fight back.” He tilts his head to look at Dick. “I don’t understand why you seemed so worried about me, I was hardly in danger.”

“I know. I’m sorry for losing control back there.” Dick gazes down at his hands, clenched guiltily around his knees. “It’s just that… when I saw the blood, and then those bullets almost hit you…”

“It’s fine, Grayson. They deserved it.” Damian pats him on the hand, as Alfred often does when one of them is upset. Dick looks over at him, astonished, and Damian quickly retracts his hand, crossing his arms and adding, “If you want to apologize for something, it should be how long you made me wait. If _you_  were kidnapped, I would rescue you much sooner.”

Dick smiles, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Well, hopefully you don’t get the opportunity to prove it.”


	3. babies

In a better world, Gotham City’s babies would spend every night safe and sound in their homes, nowhere near Batman and Robin and the criminals they fight.

But that is not the world they live in. Dick is reminded of that on this particular night, as he and Robin rescue a WayneTech engineer’s baby from a notorious gang of weapons dealers. They tried to threaten the baby’s mother into smuggling dangerous technology out the lab. Big mistake.

“Give me the baby, now,” Dick growls in his Batman voice. He thinks he’s getting pretty good at it. Maybe too good—the man holding the baby panics and tosses her away from himself, actually _tosses_  her in the air, then flees in the other direction after the rest of his gang.

Instinct and training kick in, and Dick leaps forward without missing a beat, catching the child in a smooth, gentle, arcing motion. She cries a bit, but she’s okay.

Dick hands the child over to Damian. “Robin, take the baby to safety. I’ll get the—” He stops in his tracks as the baby’s cries suddenly escalate into screaming.

Damian is holding the baby at arm’s length, his mouth agape in terror as she wriggles angrily in his grip. It’s the first time Dick has seen his Robin genuinely afraid of something. Dick holds out his arms and Damian deposits the infant in them, with all the relief of someone handing off a ticking bomb.

Dick sighs. “So, I guess I’ll hold the baby, and you go fight the criminals.”

“Good plan, Batman.” Damian sprints away like he can’t get out of there fast enough.

 

* * *

 

 “ _This_  is the training you dragged me here for?” Damian crosses his arms, unimpressed, as they stand in front of the Batcave’s obstacle course. “I’ve done this training course before, Grayson. I could have saved us the drive if you’d simply explained this before.”

Dick wasn’t too happy about the long drive out to the manor, either, especially with a grouchy ten-year-old complaining from the passenger seat the entire time. If he told Damian the truth, however, there is no way the kid would have gotten in the car.

“We’re doing a spin on the usual obstacle course today,” Dick explains, rummaging through a storage bin of training equipment until he finds what he’s looking for. “You clearly have no experience holding a baby. We need to change that.”

Damian scowls at the plastic baby Dick gives him. “A doll? You can’t be serious.”

“It’s not just a doll. It’s a training aid. And be careful—!” Dick reaches out too late to stop the doll’s head from falling to the floor. It rolls pretty far, and he has to chase it down. “He doesn’t have a very secure head. You need to support it, like with a real baby, or it’ll fall off.”

“Real babies’ heads don’t fall off,” Damian says firmly. But he frowns as he says it, looking down at the decapitated plastic baby in his hands, his eyebrows knitted together in a distinctly worried manner.

“No, they won’t,” Dick assures him, popping the doll’s head back on and arranging Damian’s arms to help him hold it properly. “They have really delicate necks, though. If you can make it through the obstacle course with Crash Test Baby in one piece, then you’re almost ready for the field.”

“You named it _Crash Test Baby_?”

“I didn’t come up with the name. Jason did. It stuck.” Dick is still a little sensitive that _his_  name, Bat Baby, didn’t stick. He knows it wasn’t one of his best, but— Fine. It’s fine. He can concede the naming rights of one thing in the cave.

“Every Robin does this training, Damian. It’s part of the gig. If we’re evacuating civilians, I need you to take care of Gotham’s littlest citizens so I can focus on the adults.” Dick smiles encouragingly. “Just give it a try, I bet you’ll be great at it.”

Damian lets out a ' _tt'_. “Of course I will.” He squares his shoulders confidently and takes off across the starting line, cradling the baby. Dick is reminded of a tiny running back carrying a football.

On Damian’s first attempt, he only makes it about a third of the way through the course before he commits a fatal error—he squeezes Crash Test Baby too tightly in his arms and its leg pops off. Dick forgot to mention that the doll has delicate limbs, as well. Oh well. It’s a learning experience.

“Try again from the beginning, Damian,” Dick calls out. “A bit more gentle this time!”

 

* * *

 

Damian never fails to impress Dick. Even when the kid hates something, he excels at it. Though Dick is pretty sure Damian was enjoying the training exercise once he got going—Dick remembers it being a fun challenge back during his own training days.

Crash Test Baby only has a few more dings and scuffs by the time Damian makes it through the obstacle course successfully. He may have even set a new course record.

“Good work, Damian,” Dick says as the boy crosses the finish line. “You definitely have the hang of it.”

The satisfied little smile on Damian’s face lasts until they head back to the car and he notices Dick carrying the doll. He stops and narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Why are you bringing that with us?”

“We’re not done with baby boot camp yet. Alfred’s going to teach you how to change a diaper when we get home. He’s the pro. He’s been changing diapers since your dad was—“

“No.”

“It’s important, Damian! Sometimes we can’t find the parents right away, and—“

“ _No_.”

Dick grimaces. He isn’t looking forward to Damian’s reaction when he finds out about the final stage of training, where he has to carry the doll around on patrol for an entire night.

 

* * *

 

The training was a pain, Dick will admit. All that time spent fending off complaints and angry glares and having to search for the doll whenever Damian hid it out of spite. He knows it was all worth it, later, though, when he sees his Robin rappel down the side of a building with a rescued baby tucked in his arm, gentle enough that the little guy doesn’t even wake up. He even thinks he sees a smile on Damian’s face.


	4. the park

Their battle against Pyg certainly had its low points, but Dick is proud of Damian, and proud of how well they came together as partners during their first big successful case as Batman and Robin. The first of many.

Despite their victory, Dick is concerned about Damian. He feels like he’s been letting the boy down. Besides attending Bruce’s funeral (an event that he tries to forget about), the only activities they’ve done together can be fit into three categories: fighting crime, training to fight crime, and otherwise preparing to fight crime.

The bedroom door is slightly ajar, but Dick knocks on it firmly anyway, waiting for Damian’s grumpy little " _What?"_ before he pushes it open. Damian is sitting nearly upside down on the floor, his legs propped up against his bed, reading a book on the history of Gotham City. It’s an endearing sight, if only Dick wasn’t already worrying about how the kid spends all his time studying and training.

“I was thinking we should spend some time together today,” Dick says.

Damian swings around to sit on his knees, book closed on his lap but his thumb holding his place between the pages. “We’re already supposed to train this evening,” he reminds Dick, looking slightly confused.

“No, not training,” says Dick, which only makes the boy appear more confused. “I was thinking… we could go for a walk outside. There’s a nice park a few blocks away.” Damian is still frowning at him blankly. He quickly switches tactics. “What I mean is, we could scout the city at ground level. You should get your bearings in the city during the daytime; it’ll help with patrol.”

Damian nods seriously. “Very well. Let me prepare, and then we can go.”

He opens the drawers of a nearby dresser and starts filling his backpack with a pair of binoculars, a notebook, a coil of rope, smoke bombs, a grappling gun, and several other pieces of military-grade equipment that are supposed to be kept in the equipment room in the bunker. 

Dick watches, amused, intervening only when Damian starts slipping daggers in his pockets.

 

* * *

 

When they’re out in public, it only becomes more obvious how different Damian is from other children. The other kids hold onto their parents, they get distracted by store windows, they shout and whine and laugh. Damian marches.

Dick places a hand on Damian’s shoulder as they wait for a crosswalk light. “Here, let me carry that bag for you. It looks heavy.” Damian only scowls at him and stands up even straighter. Dick adds, jokingly, “I need the workout more than you do.”

“You’re correct on that point, Grayson,” Damian says, but still refuses to relinquish the backpack. He frowns at Dick with eyes narrowed in suspicion, then glances around them warily.

Dick sighs. “Damian, this isn’t some kind of test. I swear, I just wanted us to get outside and get to know each other better,” he explains. “I made up the part about this being important for the mission, and I shouldn’t have. I feel bad. So please, let me carry your backpack so you can have a good time.”

“Fine,” Damian mutters, and hands it over. Dick lets out a surprised grunt as he swings the bag over his shoulder because, wow, it is even heavier than he expected.

He’s glad when they find an unoccupied park bench and he can take a load off. Damian pulls out a notebook and pen from his backpack and starts sketching the ducks swimming on the nearby pond. Dick admires his talent—the one talent of his that could be considered normal, except his skill is far beyond that of an average ten-year-old boy. With just a few strokes of his pen he creates ruffled feathers on wings that suddenly look real enough to take flight.

“What is this really about, Grayson?” he asks as he briskly adds the five little ducklings from the pond to the page, one right after the other. “You’re obviously guilty about something. You said we would be honest with each other. You promised.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Full honesty,” Dick agrees. He takes a deep breath, rubbing at a bandage on his hand in hesitation. “See, when I took up Bruce’s role, I told myself I wouldn’t make some of the mistakes he did, especially when it comes to the people around me. But I haven’t been doing so great in that regard.”

Damian shoots him an impatient look, clearly demanding him to get on with it.

“My first few months as Robin, I was worried because I thought Bruce and I had nothing in common except fighting crime together. I thought if I screwed up and he fired me, or if I couldn’t be Robin anymore, he wouldn’t want me around. It took me a while before I figured out that wasn’t true.” Dick leans forward, elbows on his knees, closer to eye level with Damian. “I just want to make sure you don’t feel that way. I’m here for you, not just as your partner, but as family. I haven’t really had the chance to _show_  that, lately, but...”

“I understand,” Damian says. “Likewise, if you decide being Batman is too much for you, and you must quit, I will still allow you to live in my penthouse. Even though you talk entirely too much.”

Dick chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Damian looks up from his notebook and sees something that makes him go suddenly and eerily still. Dick is instantly on alert, scanning the park for danger. “What is it?”

“That’s a Dalmatian,” says Damian, his tone carefully nonchalant, as he nods in the direction of the dog. “I’ve never seen one, except in pictures.”

“You should ask the owner if you can pet it.” Ignoring the suggestion, Damian ducks his head down as though occupied with his drawing. Dick stands and calls over to the woman unabashedly, “Excuse me! Ma’am? Can my brother pet your dog?”

 

* * *

 

“Perhaps we should think about getting a dog,” Damian suggests during their walk home. Before they left the park, he had pet the Dalmatian, a pair of corgis, and several very friendly mutts while telling their owners exactly what breeds they appeared to have in their lineage. “They possess an incredible sense of smell, and a properly trained one could help us track down suspects.”

“We used to have a crime-fighting dog.” The memory makes Dick smile. “His name was Ace. He had a mask and a little cape.”

Damian scowls, actually looking a little hurt. “It was just an idea. You don’t have to mock me, Grayson.”


	5. kidnapping ii

It was a terrible idea from the beginning. Damian said so, many times, but of course Grayson didn’t listen to him. He refused to let another civilian be put at risk, and insisted on being bait for the kidnappers himself. Leaving Damian to clean up this mess on his own.

Well, Batgirl is here, as well, but she is dealing with the goons outside while Damian forges on ahead. Grayson needs him.

He follows Dick’s tracking device to a room in the basement. The kidnappers are arguing within, one of them barking orders while the others are panicking about the radio silence from their comrades outside. Damian smiles at their turmoil. Should be simple.

If Batman was here, he would remind Damian not to underestimate them. That these are professionals who have successfully ransomed several of Gotham’s wealthiest citizens and evaded capture for months. Damian appeases the nagging voice by tossing a stun grenade in the room first, even though it makes the fight very dull. He incapacitates three of them while they’re still blinking stars out of their eyes.

The last one, looking ridiculous in his limo driver disguise, waves his gun about blindly and shouts threats at Damian—by his voice, he’s the ringleader, the one giving orders before. He fires a few shots in Damian’s direction, sloppy and easily evaded. Damian twists the gun out of his hand and kicks him so his knees buckle and he hits the ground, hard. The man keeps shouting foul things while being handcuffed, and Damian shuts him up by gagging him with his own ugly tie.

Dick is lying on the floor in the corner of the room, bound at his wrists and ankles, smiling up at Damian. The relief of seeing him alive and unhurt makes something loosen in Damian’s chest, a tight knot of fear that he didn’t even know was there.

Damian kneels down and cuts the ropes with a batarang. “Are you okay?” He is careful to keep his tone impersonal—Dick is just another rescued victim. “Mr Grayson?” he adds, which makes Dick’s smile twitch in amusement.

“Yeah, just peachy.” Dick sounds wrong. His voice is slow and slurred, like—

“They drugged you,” Damian realizes. White-hot rage surges inside him, pounding in his veins, and he turns to the criminals he left limp and defeated on the floor. They deserve worse. He should break their arms and legs, stomp their faces into bloody pulp.

“Robin,” Dick says pleadingly, dragging his attention back. “Can we just… get out of here? Please?”

Helping Dick walk is awkward, and Damian curses his lacking height. He waits for Dick to make some lighthearted comment about it, but he is worryingly silent as Damian leads him out of the room. They only make it halfway down the corridor before Dick swoons against the wall and slides down to the floor.

“Why did they drug you? What did you do?” Damian demands in a hushed voice. The only hostages who were drugged were the ones that caused trouble—the heiress who knew karate and tried to fight back, the tech mogul who pulled out a canister of pepper spray. They planned this trap meticulously. The most important point was that Dick was not supposed to put himself in excess danger by struggling or fighting the kidnappers.

“I… I punched one of them. In the face,” Dick admits wearily.

“You idiot!” Damian hisses. “Why? You knew I was coming to save you. Why would you—“

“He said something. A joke. ‘Bout me and Bruce. I couldn’t… I couldn’t let him…”

They both go silent when they hear faint footsteps coming closer. A flashlight beam lands on their faces, forcing them to squint, and then shifts aside enough that they can see the SWAT team approaching stealthily from the stairs. The leader looks at Damian inquisitively, and Damian waves them towards the room at the end of the hall where the kidnappers are tied up. They hurry past, but one member of the squad pauses.

“I can take it from here,” she tells Damian, trying to step around him to assist Dick, but Damian crosses his arms and blocks her way.

“No,” Damian says curtly. “I will show Mr Grayson the way out.”

They frown at each other, neither willing to give up authority to the other, until Dick speaks up.

“It’s fine, officer,” he says, his voice only wavering slightly, as he rises to his feet. He hides it well, but Damian can see how he’s trembling with the effort. “I’ll go with Robin.”

She nods reluctantly and turns to rejoin her squad. “I’ll radio ahead and let the team outside know.”

As soon as the police officer is gone, Dick sags in exhaustion, bracing himself against the wall. Damian does his best to support Dick from the other side to keep him from falling. Slowly, they make their way to the stairs.

“Time to go home,” Dick murmurs wistfully. Damian shakes his head.

“No, Grayson. We have to talk to the police outside. They will surely want to send you to the hospital for observation.”

Dick groans unhappily and sinks to his knees on the stairs. “This was your plan,” Damian reminds him. “You wanted to play the victim to help apprehend the criminals, and now we need to follow it through to the end.”

“I know. I just…” He can’t manage any more words, instead closing his eyes as he crouches there on his hands and knees, drawing hard breaths that turn into dry heaves.

Damian stares, frozen in horror. He’s never seen Dick helpless like this. For a moment he feels just as helpless, at a complete loss for what he’s supposed to do. Then he remembers. He remembers being in that frigid warehouse, that sick caricature of an orphanage, surrounded by beds full of dead bodies. He remembers retching over a waste bin, Grayson’s concerned voice behind him… and he knows what to do.

He reaches out, placing his hand comfortingly against Dick’s shuddering back. “You can do this,” he says quietly, rubbing small circles between Dick’s shoulders. “Just hold on a bit longer. Pennyworth and I will meet you at the hospital as soon as we can.”

Dick’s harsh gasps slowly subside. The dizzy spell seems to be passing. Soon he’s almost breathing normally again, if a bit shallow. He looks up and meets Damian’s gaze, his bleary and heavy-lidded eyes full of renewed determination.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

Dick wakes up in a hospital bed, feeling something soft brushing against his arm. He smiles when he looks down and sees that it's Damian. The boy is fast asleep, having pulled one of the visitor chairs right up to the edge of the bed so he could rest his head on the mattress, pillowed on his crossed arms.

Still groggy from sleep and the lingering effects of the sedative, Dick absently reaches over and strokes Damian’s soft hair. Usually Damian will snap awake at the slightest disturbance. This time he awakens slowly, grumbling faintly as he shifts and eventually lifts his head up. While he’s rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Dick spots a note propped up on the bedside table—Alfred is out fetching breakfast.

“Were you here all night?” asks Dick.

Damian blinks at him sleepily. “Of course.”

Memories of the night before come trickling back, including those of Damian’s frightened face. “I should have listened to you. It was a bad plan,” Dick admits. “I’m sorry.”

“You are never using yourself as bait again,” Damian tells him sternly, his dark eyebrows scrunched up in concern. The way he says it sounds eerily like Bruce is speaking directly through him.

“Yeah, after that experience, I’ll definitely think twice about it.” Dick leans back with a sigh. “At least we caught them. Thanks to you and Steph. I knew you guys could handle it.”

“The police will want a statement from you, now that you’re feeling better,” Damian informs him. “After that I’ll tell the doctors to discharge you so we can go home.”

Dick smiles gratefully. “Sounds good.”

“Alfred has already said that you’re not allowed to patrol tonight, and perhaps not tomorrow. I support his decision.”

“Well, I guess that means I’ll finally have time to watch those nature documentaries I’ve been recording. Maybe you’d like to join me? Keep an eye on me to make sure I stay put?”

“I suppose somebody has to…” says Damian, breaking off into a wide yawn at the end.

Dick pats the edge of the bed. “Here, you should rest a bit more. At least until Alfred gets back. It was a long night.”

Damian leans forward and lowers his head onto the bed once again. Smiling fondly, Dick reaches over to wrap his arm around Damian’s back, the closest he can get to hugging him from this angle. He feels Damian’s breathing deepen and slow, and soon both of them are drifting back to sleep.


End file.
